Dawn of the Rebellion
by bart102984
Summary: This is my first story. Please leave comments if you have any suggestions. Trent and Hadrian are an unlikely pair. When they get tangled up in an affair that could bring the Empire to its knees, which way will these two go? For the Empire or of each providence in Tamriel becoming its own kingdom


A hooded figure was walking down the path to Cheydinhal. It was a cloudy day and a light snow was falling. The ground had a light covering of the falling snow. As he was walking, he noticed prints left in the middle of the street. No tracks neither leading up to the prints nor walking away from the prints in the middle of the road. He noticed that the prints contained two sets of horse's prints, two sets of men's prints, one set that belonged to a woman. He grabbed on to the amulet that hung around his neck and closed his eyes. He began to speak the incantation in barely a whisper.

When he opened his eyes, he saw outline of the group of people standing in the middle of the road. What he found odd was the fact that they were not moving. Even skilled assassins of the Dark Brotherhood couldn't stand that still for extended periods of time. He picked up a pebble that was on the road and threw it at the outlines. All he heard was the _clack_ of stone on stone. Unsure of what to do, he started to walk around the foot prints of the stone statues. When he got to the other side of the footprints on the ground he heard the sound of a wolf running. Quicker than an eye can blink, he had pulled out a bow, notched an arrow, drew it, and released the arrow. As the arrow hit the wolf between the eyes, the wolf flipped over and began to slide. When the wolf stopped sliding, the man's hood had come off and the wolf was at the man's feet. He bent down and pulled the arrow out of the wolf.

When he stood back up, he heard clapping. He spun around to see a woman walking towards him. He notched another arrow and drew the bow, readying it for another deadly shot. The woman stopped in her tracks, and held her hands out in front of signaling for him to halt.

"Easy there. Not many people can stop one of my wolves in their tracks, let alone shoot an arrow with such precision and speed as you did. My name is Namera. What is yours my handsome traveler?"

"Trent. My name is Trent Freeborn."

"Well Mr. Freeborn. Where did you get such training to so skilled? You are too small to be part of the Fighter's Guild but not stealthy enough to be part of the Dark Brotherhood."

"Well I don't tell my friends that, so why would I tell you?"

"I can be very persuasive, Mr. Freeborn. Please tell me."

"No, my fair lady. I do not trust Bosmer, let alone those that send wolves after stray travelers on a road. Now move out of my way before I put this dagger in your chest."

"If that's the case lets just see how fast you really are?" Namera said as she called for the rest of her wolves.

Trent shot the notched arrow at the closest wolf. The next wolf lunged at him and was met with Trent's bow. Trent had drawn arrow out of his quiver, stabbed the next wolf that attacked him with it, pulled it back out and shot it at the farthest wolf killing it instantly. The snow on the ground now was a crimson red. The wolves lay dead in the middle of the road. Trent turned around and Namera was gone. He put the bow back on his back and decided to head towards Cheydinhal. As he started walking, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Glad you didn't need my help little buddy?" said a tall man in a white cloak.

"I can handle a pack of wolves just fine. I was trained to fight with packs of wolves. Those wolves were not nearly as hungry or as wild as the wolves I had to train against."

"Sorry, didn't know. Why won't you tell anyone where you got your training from? That woman was right you are too small for the Fighter's Guild. But that kind of training isn't part of the Dark Brotherhood."

"Hadrian, please drop it. It's the past. Let's leave it there. Unless you want me to tell everyone in Cheydinhal that you are the Grand Champion of the Arena. You know someone there will challenge you for the title. Since people know you are still alive, the arena can't crown someone else until you are killed in the Arena."

"Trent, don't bring up my past if you don't want to tell me anything about yours"

With that Trent and Hadrian continued down the road to Cheydinhal. It was a very uneventful trip. No other attacks and Trent left Hadrian behind a few times. Hadrian caught up when Trent made camp for the night. Hadrian had no idea why Trent was in a rush to get to Cheydinhal. There were no guild halls except the ones for the Fighter's Guild and Mage's Guild. He often wondered about is silent companion. Hadrian was a Nord, skilled in two handed swordsmanship. Trent was a mystery to him even though they have been travelling around doing odd jobs together for the better part of five years. They travelled to all the different provinces of Tamriel. No matter how much Hadrian pushed, Trent would not explain his past.

The next morning Hadrian woke up Trent. Trent rolled over and ignored Hadrian. Hadrian packed everything else up except for the sleeping bag Trent was still sleeping in. Hadrian knew Trent would catch up to him before he reached Cheydinhal. He found his way back to the path and started heading towards the city. He stopped at an inn along the road for breakfast. When he walked in he saw Trent sitting at the table and the inn keeper bringing food to his table. He had ordered for Hadrian and himself and already paid the inn keeper.

After breakfast, they left the inn and headed for the gates of Cheydinhal. In the distance you could se the wall surrounding the city. The city guards standing on either side of the gate checking peoples faces against the people with warrants out on them. On the doors was the crest for the city of Cheydinhal. As the walked up to the gates, the guards checked their faces and identifications to the wanted posters in their hands. After clearing them, they opened the gates and allow Trent and Hadrian to enter.

†

"Hey Dorgan, look over there. What is that thing travelling with the Nord? It looks like an elf but pure white. I've never seen one that looks like that before."

"A white elf, Impossible. Stories of how the Nords wiped out the Snow Elves years ago are legend. My father told me the tales as a boy back in Skyrim. Didn't your father ever tell you stories as a boy, Hunter?" Dorgan replied

"Yeah, but nothing of snow elves. Don't forget I'm not a Nord, I'm Breton. We are descendants of elves."

"Snow elves were vile creatures," Dorgan remarked, "and have been extinct for thousands of years. That's why I'm surprised to see one or an elf that looks like one."

"Well Dorgan, I'm getting bored," Hunter said. "Do you want me to cloak us so we can have fun with the snow elf?"

"No, I will walk up to him and distract him as you steal all their Septims," Dorgan replied.

Hunter agreed to Dorgan's plan. Dorgan came out from behind the statue and started walking over to the elf walking with the Nord. He straightened his cloak, his cloths, and padded the dust off his side. He had done this scheme a thousand times to other marks. All of them were distracted enough to where Hunter could pick all the gold out of their pockets, and get what ever else he could find. This was going to be no different. Dorgan was a Nord that had a silver tongue. He could talk to someone and make them believe that they were old friends. He had to think of something that he had in common a snow elf. That was his mark this time. He had never seen one before now and this was a once in a life time opportunity.

Dorgan approached the Snow Elf and the Nord with his arms open greeting the mismatched pair. He grabbed the Snow Elf's hand and shook it. Watching this, Hunter snuck around the houses near entrance to Cheydinhal. He saw Dorgan talking up the Snow Elf. This was his perfect time to sneak closer. He drank his potion of invisibility and walked silently towards the trio. He had to pay attention to everything and dodge the people around him. He finally reached the Snow Elf and Nord that Dorgan was talking to. As he reached his hand in to the Snow Elf's pocket, he felt a sharp pain in the palm of his hand.


End file.
